


Convincing Jack

by appending_fic



Series: Guardians Rise [3]
Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death References, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Graphic Violence, Slow Build, pitch being a jackass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aster maybe had been a little bit in love with Jack since he'd saved Easter without a by-your-leave. He was sure, though, he'd have gotten over it in time - it was just a little crush, and one saved Easter.</p><p>Or, Jack makes a habit of saving Aster's little behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Might Have Been

Aster hadn’t intended any of it to happen. He wouldn’t dare chalk it up to instincts, as if he really were some overgrown rabbit, instead of a Pooka.

But...

Aster had, despite all appearances, lost all hope before Jack had come back. He’d thought there was a good chance the winter would last forever, or, barring that, the storm would destroy all hope the children had in the future.

And then Jack had swooped in and done his magic, and somehow, everything had been okay.

He hadn’t said he preferred Easter to Christmas, but he’d told Bunny he wouldn’t have done all that for just anyone. He’d as much as told Aster he thought he was...special. Worth helping.

But it still all came down to Jack helping Aster at his lowest, when he was weak and lost and broken. He knew the Guardians had his back, and he trusted them with his life; Jack, however, had sheltered and saved Aster after seeing him at his weakest moment.

So he was a little star-struck, or awed, for a while after properly meeting the larrikin. Sure, the lad was a trickster, and loud, and seemed to prefer calling Aster ‘Bunny’, or, sometimes, ‘Kangaroo’, but Aster knew he cared for the children with the same bone-deep certainty as the rest of them. And maybe he’d started out a tiny bit in love with Jack anyway, because he’d offered his Warren to Jack, whenever he wanted, right after the boy’s initiation, and had, later, taught him the Thump, the pattern of beats against the ground he couldn’t recognize from anywhere, so Jack could always call him.

But it wasn’t like the other Guardians hadn’t fallen over their feet to ingratiate themselves to Jack. Tooth was obsessed with the boy’s perfect teeth, and North had showered him with presents, including a starlight dagger scavenged ages ago.

It would’ve been fine, if it hadn’t been for the letter.


	2. The Bunny, the Witch, and the Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aster gets into a bit of trouble.

Aster didn’t normally get letters like Santa did. Children knew Easter was about eggs and chocolate and those chicken-shaped marshmallow puffs. But somewhere down the line, kids had realized that, as a spring spirit, Aster had to do with spring, and rebirth, and the letters began trickling in. Children wishing for siblings (which Aster just stayed out of), for help with their gardens (and wasn’t that a treat, nudging things just enough to make flowers and herbs and vegetables bloom?), or, increasingly, for help with monsters.

Katherine had explained that because they had defeated Fear, ages ago, the belief in them was tied up with an expectation that the Guardians protected them against monsters. All monsters were, in some sense, extensions of Pitch’s influence, things that lurked in the dark and hurt children. Oh, there were grey areas, where sometimes creatures and humans got off on the wrong foot, and Aster had, on a few occasions, had to mediate, rather than fight.

He wondered if anyone had thought to mention this part of being a Guardian to Jack. He was bound to get letters about family members lost in the snow, wendigo and other winter nasties.

But there was the letter to consider, first. A girl’s little brother had died shortly after birth, and the girl was worried. A few other babies had passed away in the past few months. She thought it was a monster. Could Bunny (he didn’t know how, but children had shifted, over the past few months, to calling him ‘Bunny’ instead of “Mr. Bunny,” “Mr. Rabbit,” or “Mr. Peter Cottontail”) please take care of it?

The girl’s home was a little Japanese town set at the base of a small mountain; Aster found the home dressed for mourning, and paused, outside, to bow his head. A flicker of motion made him turn his head, to catch a glimpse of a woman, slender and pale with striking blue eyes. She didn’t speak, and vanished after a moment.

So.

Death was stalking this village. Aster didn’t bother trying to track her down; if she wanted to talk to him, she would find him. Still, it meant something was here, although it remained to be seen if it was a monster or some sort of environmental factor. Sometimes, the two fed off of each other.

But there was the unmistakable stench of magic around the mourning home; Aster wrinkled his nose at the scent and began to track it up, away from the village and toward the mountain. The mountain was dotted with cherry trees, now plucked of fruit except one tree bearing a bright blossom near a dank, moldering cave close to the summit. It stank of blood and excrement, and Aster knew he'd found his culprit.

"Awww, hello, little bunny. Aren't you a sweet little thing?"

Aster tensed, shocked at having been caught unaware; a hand ending in claws, however, tightened around his throat. He lashed out with a kick that connected with nothing. A hacking laugh sounded next to Aster's ear.

"Silly rabbit. You never want to confront a hag right after she's eaten. We're always stronger after eating. Still hungry, though."

Aster wrenched around, trying to break free, but the hag shook him like a rag doll, still holding him around his neck. There was a wrenching, draining pain, and Aster found his leverage slipping away. The hand around his neck seemed larger, stronger.

“Just the right size for the pot,” the woman crooned. Her grip shifted to Aster’s scruff; he scrabbled to kick against her, but the ground was a long way away, almost as if...

No.

Oh, no.

Cannibal spirits could suck the life out of other spirits, if they got their hands on them. And now no larger than an ordinary rabbit, Aster didn’t stand a chance.

He bit at the crone’s hand opportunistically, however, just in case.

She seemed oblivious to the bites or the pain, and soon had Aster handily strung up near a bubbling pot. He could see tiny bones scattered around the pot, and wished he hadn’t. The crone began to hum something almost tuneless as she tended to the fire, sniffed at the water, and began chopping up some foul-smelling herbs she thought would add to the taste of rabbit stew. The tiny part of Aster’s mind not panicking was offended at the thought that she’d be eating rabbit so poorly prepared.

A puff of cool air relieved the uncomfortable warmth of hanging so close to the boiling water; Aster glanced to his right and felt a surge of hope and fear mingled together. Jack was leaning up against the mouth of the cave. Even better, the crone had slipped in the back, probably for something downright toxic to mix with her stew - Aster cut the thought off; he wasn’t going to be eaten, well or poorly-prepared!

But Jack, instead of doing the sensible thing and sneaking over to cut Aster down, shouted.

“Halloo! Any nasty old crones inside?”

The hag appeared in an instant, pointed fangs showing in her hideous smile. “Snow boy! You can’t have my dinner,” she growled. “I caught it.”

Jack shrugged. “Wasn’t here for your dinner.” He grinned suddenly, and swung his staff at the hag, freezing the pot in an instant and sending her scrambling up the walls of the cave.

Clinging to the ceiling like a lizard, she howled at Jack. “You mannerless little brute! I’ll rip out your tendons for udon and wear your skin like a coat! You’re not too old for me, yet!”

“You’re going to have to catch me first,” Jack taunted. The wind roared through the cave, carrying Jack up into the air, where he hovered, buffeted by the gale.

The hag leapt and Jack knocked her back; despite the impact she made on the far wall, though, Aster could see she wasn’t hurt. When she approached again, it was on all fours, clinging to the ground and swinging up at Jack like a cat clawing for a bird. He tried to strike her again, and this time, she caught a hold of his staff with her claws, hurling it to the side. Jack dropped like a stone, and Aster winced.

Totem magic; he’d have to see about getting Jack trained out of relying on that staff before it got him killed. Presuming they didn’t die today...

Jack seemed to be injured, hunched over something. The crone leapt at him, scratching and howling at the boy in a desperate struggle. Jack flailed and struck at random, showing such poor form Aster suspected he was lucky the crone didn’t seem to be a strong fighter herself.

They broke apart suddenly, the hag panting and gasping, holding one hand to her bleeding shoulder. Aster stared at the wound, certain Jack hadn’t done anything to hurt her that badly.

“What did you do, snow boy?”

Jack chuckled. “There was a cherry blossom outside. I thought it was strange and picked it. It must have gotten a little torn up in the struggle.”

The hag’s appearance shifted, her face seeming to split all along the circumference to reveal a mouth full of shark’s teeth. “Give it back!” she screamed. When Jack didn’t move, she sprinted forward, only to be brought up short, clutching, pained, at her chest. “No,” she gurgled. Jack stood between her and the cave entrance, half of a cherry blossom held in one hand. Carefully, deliberately, he began to tear the blossom to shreds, eyes fixed on the hag as she struggled and writhed in pain. At last, she stopped moving, and Jack let the cherry blossom confetti fall to the floor.

Then he walked over to Aster. He was smiling a little tenderly, but Aster could see the spark of amusement in his eyes, as well.

“That better be you, Bunny, otherwise this would have been a lot of work for nothing.”

“Of course it’s me, you bloody showpony,” Aster growled. He struggled against the bonds, finding them as tight as they’d been originally. “Would you mind helping me out here?”

Jack’s grin widened just a fraction, and Aster knew he was never going to live this moment down, but instead of mocking, Jack reached out to support Aster’s weight before cutting the rope and allowing Aster to drop into his grasp. Aster was shocked to find Jack’s skin to be as warm as any other human’s, and for a moment just basked in the warmth and comfort of knowing he was safe. The ropes fell away and Aster nuzzled closer. He might...have ground his teeth a little, but Jack either didn’t hear or didn’t know what it meant because Aster would never live down practically purring in Jack’s arms.

It took a second to realize Jack was actually talking to him. “-get back to the Warren yourself, or should I fly you?”

Flying? No thank you. “Put me down, Frostbite, I can get home on my own.”

“You sure?” Jack asked, and it seemed part teasing, part worried. “I can carry you-”

“I’ve been on North’s sled once,” Aster said, trying to maintain a sense of decorum while he ducked his head into the warmth of the crook of Jack’s arm. “Even El-Ahrairah didn’t get it into his fool head to fly.”

“All right.” Jack set Aster down, gently, and stepped back. Aster tried not to let it show that he felt the sudden departure of warmth. Aster thumped the ground to open a tunnel; it wasn’t quite as big as it usually was, but it was still large enough, so he glanced up at Jack.

“You coming?”

Jack flushed (and it was strange how sharply the red stood out against his pale skin) and took a hesitant step forward. “Are you sure?”

“You’re welcome anytime, anyway,” Aster grumbled. “Come on.”

There were a few grunts from Jack along the way that suggested the ride was a little tighter than usual, and that maybe Aster should have sucked up his pride and let Jack fly him home...

And that made him think, as they tumbled out into the fields of the Warren. He turned to Jack, looking up when he remembered he was still tiny. “How’d you find me, anyway?”

“You didn’t answer my call,” Jack said, shrugging. So I checked out the Warren and found this letter and...thought I’d check to see if you were okay.”

Aster...wasn’t about to demand Jack explain how he’d gotten into the Warren at this juncture, but Aster could see Jack wasn’t entirely honest. There was something in the shifting of his stance that spoke of something deeper. But Aster didn’t have the energy to argue, and Jack had saved him anyway, so he let it drop.

“Well, I’m right grateful, mate. Might have been made into a crook stew if you hadn’t shown up. Thanks.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it, Bunny.” Jack scooped Aster up unceremoniously, eliciting a startled honk from Aster. They both froze.

“Is there a goose around here?” Jack asked after a moment of silence.

“Naw, you just startled me, Frostbite,” Aster said. “Come on; I gotta get some tucker and sleep or I’m never getting back to my old self.”

“But you’re so cuddly this size!” Jack declared, and if Jack had actually nuzzled Aster, he might have just lost it right there. But Jack just squeezed Aster a little closer, sheltering the miniature Pooka as he wandered into Aster’s kitchen. Once in the mostly-underground part of Aster’s den, Jack deposited him on the table and, whistling, strode to the pantry.

“Salad okay?” he asked.

Aster, who had been holding himself perfectly still during the journey, trying to tamp down all of his affectionate reactions, started at the sudden sound. “What?”

“I figured you’d have trouble getting up to the counter,” Jack said. “Do you want salad? I could try something else, but it’d be a little...experimental.”

“Naw, she’ll be right.” At Jack’s confused stare, Aster rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, Frostbite.”

Jack was unusually quiet, just humming quietly as he prepared Aster’s food, and just eating, mostly silent, while Aster reacquainted himself with eating without a utensil. He was just thankful Jack didn’t make any comments; he didn’t think his pride could take it.

There were still questions he wanted to ask: what had Jack done to the hag; how had he known; what he’d wanted Aster for in the first place, but once Aster was finished eating, he found his eyes slipping closed. A gentle pair of hands wrapped around him and lifted him from the table.

Aster woke up the next morning in his nest, at his normal size and Jack nowhere to be found. But Aster’s dreams were of warmth and comfort he hadn’t felt in eons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Yama Uba is a complicated spirit, but is generally known to eat children. Some legends say their life force is tied to a single flower.


	3. Unexpected Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets invited to help deliver gifts Christmas Eve. Aster tries not to sulk.

Jack didn’t mention the incident to the other Guardians, not even the part with Aster shrinking to the size of a conventional rabbit. He did seem to spend a lot more time around the Warren, claiming more often than not that he was just keeping Aster on his toes. And he did pull small pranks, things that were less annoying than surprising. But Aster couldn’t help but feel Jack was there to keep an eye on him.

He’d have been irritated if it were North, or Tooth - they’d been involved in being Guardians (or something like it) longer than Aster, and sometimes thought that made them entitled to tell him what to do. But Jack sincerely wanted to make sure Aster was safe. It was...

Nice.

Jack’s first Christmas as a Guardian, North invited him to join him on his rounds. Aster supposed it was a natural progression. Jack spent some nights helping Tooth with her rounds; she’d gotten back a taste for them after the Storm of the Century (Storm of the Bloody Millennium, more like). He spent others watching Sandy work.

When Jack mentioned it, around Thanksgiving, Aster felt a twinge of jealousy. He hated to admit that the old rivalry with North was...a mite more serious than he liked to admit. Nobody worried about being good for the Easter Bunny. Nobody got worked up trying to find Easter prezzies for family. Nobody woke up before dawn to find Easter eggs.

Aster usually spent Christmas Eve starting the eggs for next year. Much of the post-Easter work was experimentation with dyes, colors, and techniques. He had finished blowing out the center of several dozen eggs and was putting the finishing touches on delicate paintwork when a brush of cool air startled him, causing him to crush the egg in his paw.

“Hey, Bunny! Are you painting eggs for Easter? Don’t they normally spoil after a month or so?”

Aster tried not to react, but the unexpected appearance of the winter sprite set off reactions that he’d become completely unable to control. The cool breath and cheery voice were the sign of happy afternoons, expeditions across the world, and a single cherished memory of being warm and comfortable in a careful embrace.

So he couldn’t help the chittering response, or the lean toward the friendly voice, but he didn’t embarrass himself completely.

“What’re you doing here, Frostbite? Thought you were helping North with his deliveries.”

Jack ambled around Aster’s worktable, shrugging nonchalantly. “Eh. I decided no kid wants to sneak downstairs to see Santa and just run into Jack Frost.” Aster didn’t need to look to confirm, anymore, when Jack wasn’t being fully honest with him. He glanced over, though, to see Jack unwilling to look directly at Aster, which was weird. Jack spent almost all of his time draping over, poking, pulling, and otherwise manhandling Aster. Why he’d suddenly go all shifty-eyed escaped Aster, unless...

It hit Aster like a brick. He got the same sense every time Jack tried to explain his presence in the Warren, and the few times Jack had appeared just in time to join Aster on a monster hunt. And wasn’t that a sight. Aster knew he was no slouch in a fight, but something pushed Jack to be a monster himself in those fights. When they’d found an honest-to-El-ahrairah Fearling hiding under a girl’s bed, Jack had practically torn it limb from limb. Even Sandy didn’t have that sort of fury chained in him, and he’d been witness to the end of the Great War, himself. Aster had to admit he’d been tempted, sometimes, to delay on responding to a letter, just for that little extra measure of safety he felt knowing Jack was nearby.

Suffice to say, Jack...tied himself in knots to avoid saying he wanted to keep an eye on Aster. This was some of the same. Jack didn’t want to admit...what?

That he wanted to spend Christmas Eve with Aster?

Aster snuck a glance at Jack, who was staring at Aster’s paw. Aster glanced down at the remains of the egg.

“Why isn’t it all yolky?” Jack asked.

That was...a little easier to deal with than whatever was in Aster’s head. He shook his head. “I blow out the yolks beforehand, so they don’t go bad after I paint them. They’re very delicate, though, so I save them for places they’re not likely to crack. Indoors, sometimes, for ankle-biters who can’t get outside.”

"Can I try painting one?"

The automatic denial was on Aster's tongue before he paused and glanced at Jack. He doubted Jack was intending to ruin anything, and it wasn't like a few strange or whimsical eggs didn't get through every year anyway.

He resolutely did not think about the fact he'd have waved off any one of the others without a thought.

"Go ahead. Just be careful; they're a bit delicate."

Jack dropped into a chair on the other side of the bench and grabbed at an egg and brush with barely-restrained glee. Aster took only a moment to make sure Jack understood how to handle the fragile, hollow eggs, before turning to his own work.

Jack seemed to understand the value of quiet work, as he didn't speak when working on his own painting. Aster only looked up at him when ready for his hourly break...and paused.

"You know you can do patterns other than ferns, right?"

"I like ferns," Jack said quickly, hunching his shoulders protectively around his latest work, consisting primarily of delicate violet ferns.

"Ah..." Aster struggled for an approprite response. "Maybe you could try a few flowers, just for a change?"

"Maybe." Aster tried to ignore the doubtful tone in Jack's voice; he was certain Jack would get into it once he got past his reluctance to paint something new.

Aster left it at that for a few minutes before checking on Jack. He stared for a long moment. "Very nice, but I think those daisies have a certain...fernlike quality."

"I could try a bunny?" Jack asked. Aster imagined a ferny rabbit and resisted the urge to grimace. The last thing he wanted to do was offend Jack at this point, but Jack looked nervous. "Or a...duck?"

"Frostbite, if you had to guess, what would be the chances the duck would look like a fern?"

"I haven't exactly had a lot of practice drawing animals and stuff," Jack snapped. He clutched the fernlike daisy egg for a second before catching himself and setting it down on the bench.

Aster picked it up and set it in the rack for drying eggs, slipping closer to Jack, who’d hunched his shoulders protectively around him. Jack jerked upward when Aster placed a paw on his shoulder, his irises edged with frost in his shock.

“You wanna learn?”

Jack scowled at first, but when Aster refused to let his cautious smile shift an iota, Jack glanced hopefully at the unfinished eggs. “You’ve got work to do,” he said half-heartedly, but the battle was lost.

Jack was an eager student, which made up some for Aster being a terrible teacher. He had to fight to keep his patience, to keep from grabbing the brush out of Jack’s hand to show him how to do it right. But the moment Jack finished an egg decorated with a passable rabbit with floppy ears and held it up to Aster, shy smile on his face, made up for all of it.

“Good work, Snowflake,” Aster said.

Jack spun the egg around to scrutinize the egg. “Really? It looks a little weird...”

Aster almost laughed, but refrained, afraid he’d shatter Jack’s enthusiasm. “Loads better than my first ones. And you’ll always see what’s wrong, Jack. It’s part of getting better.” Struck by inspiration, Aster plucked the egg from Jacks’ fingers. “In fact, I don’t think this’ll be going out to the kids next year.” He rummaged through a pile of sundries for an egg stand and set the egg and stand on the hearth with a flourish.

When Aster looked back, Jack’s whole face was red.

“You...”

“You think it’s nice now, Snowflake, but wait a few years and you’ll be begging me to take it down.”

Jack shook his head, ducking it, perhaps in an attempt to hide his blush. “Never, Bunny.”

It would have been a nice moment if Jack hadn’t snapped his head up, mouth opening in a decidedly unfriendly, toothy expression.

“Jack?” Aster asked uncertainly. He reached to the side of the hearth, checking to make sure the poker was there. Jack didn’t seem inclined to move for the moment, though, which meant it was unlikely something...bad. “Frostbite?”

It was like magic; Jack shook his head, glancing over at Aster. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Aster recognized the expression. Jack got it on Aster’s hunts.

“I gotta go,” he said.

“Well wait for me!” Aster snapped as the winter sprite took to the air, whirling around to grab his crook as he passed. It took a few slow moments to slip on his bracers, find his bandolier, and grab his boomerangs, but then he was racing after the other spirit. “Come on, slow it down!” Aster shouted.

“Can’t!” Jack shouted into the wind (and wasn’t that going to muck things up down here, the North Wind swinging around like it owned the place).

“Can you at least tell me what’s wrong?”

“Snow goons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to give credit where it is due. The discussion about Jack Frost and ferns comes in spirit, if not in letter, from a conversation that occurred in "Hogfather", an excellent book by Terry Pratchett I was certain the scriptwriters of Rise of the Guardians must have read.


	4. Cold and Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fight the snow goons.

There wasn’t time for a debate, only the bewildering thought that a snow goon sounded like something a six-year-old had come up with. But as they emerged from the tunnel into the woods surrounding Burgess and Aster heard a furious roar, he remembered that some of the little ankle-biters had tremendous imaginations.

Jack was in the air the moment he left the tunnel, staff trailing behind him before he suddenly swung it in a wide arc, earning a pained scream from the middle distance.

And then Aster saw them. Some were works of art, practically true to life. Others were grotesque sculptures of snow. But even the simple balls of snow with coal-black eyes moved with sinister grace over the white earth. They were, Aster thought, near Jack’s pond, which would explain his freak-out earlier.

What exactly they were, and what they were doing here, was going to have to wait, though, given that Jack was busy. Aster had had a few opportunities to view Jack in the middle of these fights. He might have been rubbish at hand-to-hand, but in the air, armed with the power of frost, he was a sight to behold. Despite being made of snow, the goons seemed vulnerable to freezing, as Jack spent most of his time dodging their clumsy attempts to reach or hit him and freezing them solid. He would, in passing, shatter a frozen snow goon with a good swing from his staff.

It wasn’t quite a ballet, and paled in comparison to the work of a Pooka Capo master, but it was still captivating to watch.

‘Captivating’ turned out to be exactly the wrong thing to be concerned with when a life-or-death battle was going on.

Aster tried to lunge away a second too late, when heavy arms made of snow wrapped around his chest.

“Let go, you drongo!”

The goon didn’t reply. A moment after grabbing Aster, though, it began sinking, dragging Aster down with it into the drifts.

Aster realized with a sick roil of his stomach that the thing intended to suffocate him under the snow. He tried struggling again, but whatever snow goons were, they didn’t have any anatomy Aster could recognize; a kick just dislodged a patch of snow the goon didn’t seem to miss.

“Jack!” Aster managed one more shout before his head fell below the surface of the snow, sealing up behind him like the entrance to one of his tunnels. What followed was a desperate struggle; Aster couldn’t breathe, and buried in snow, the goon was all but indistinguishable from the bank around it. He was beginning to panic, just a little, when the snow exploded away from him, carried by gale-force winds that whipped through the forest like an avenging spirit, and...

Well, seeing Jack just hovering there in front of him, eyes practically glowing ice-blue, it was an apt description. Jack did...something, and the snow goon that had attacked Aster was simply gone. There were sticks and carrots and pieces of coal scattered all around their immediate surroundings, but Aster had already started shivering and couldn’t really focus on anything.

He saw Jack’s mouth moving, but Aster couldn’t quite focus. Something warm wrapped around him; he nuzzled as close to the warmth as he could manage, which was good, given that he seemed to be surrounded by cold breezes. Aster slipped in and out of consciousness for a while, until something put him down somewhere filled with a familiar scent.

Home.

He grabbed out, catching a warm hand. Jack, standing, paused and looked at Aster.

“Stay?” Aster asked. Jack’s expression took on a panicked, slightly hunted look, eyes wide and darting between Aster and the door. “M cold,” Aster murmured.

He didn’t see Jack’s response, because his eyes were heavy. But Aster fell asleep all but wrapped in the human spirit’s warmth. His dreams were that, warm and comfortable, if strangely indistinct. He awoke alone, but Jack’s scent was still strong in the room, a sign he’d left recently. Aster crawled to his feet, finding his balance slightly unsteady. It was hard to track Jack; his scent lingered in the tunnels, in a way Aster hadn’t noticed before today. For lack of better ideas, Aster entered the kitchen, resolved to at least eat before trying to track down the sprite again.

Jack was at the counter, chopping some sort of root vegetable - whatever Aster had stored up. He gave Aster a blinding grin, and Aster stumbled a little.

Either Aster blacked out for a second, or Jack literally teleported, because Jack was by his side, icy blue eyes wide open in worry. “Are you okay? I didn’t think you had frostbite, but you looked a little shocky...”

“I’m fine, Frostbite,” Aster said, waving the boy off. “Happy Christmas, by the way.”

“Pfft,” Jack retorted. “Christmas isn’t all that important. You being okay is.”

Aster wished he could frame that moment to replay it whenever he was feeling low. He knew he’d never share it with North. The man was too easily hurt to use it to taunts him, and besides, even as Aster’s heart fluttered at Jack’s casual words, he knew it was too private a moment to share.

“Now sit down and eat something,” Jack instructed. “You got a nasty shock out there; I could feel you shaking all night.”

And that sent a flush (not that Jack could see) from Aster’s ears to his tail. He sat at the table, keeping his head low until a bowl appeared in front of him. He knew he’d begged Jack to sleep with him in his nest, and that he’d used Jack as a blanket, but it seemed infinitely more embarrassing a fact in the early morning.

“What are those things, anyway?” Aster asked.

“I’m not sure. Snowmen, I guess. They started showing up a few years ago. I think some kid must have dreamt them up,” Jack said after a moment. “I’m not certain what makes them come to life, but they start building friends and roving around unless I get a handle on things early.”

And that had been a surprise. Not only did Jack know about the Guardians’ duties to protect children from monsters, he’d been doing something like it for years. Most winter spirits weren’t all that friendly, and Jack, practically the opposite of all of them, got on with most of them like a house on fire. Burgess, especially, he protected from the spirits that crawled out of their hidey-holes during the winter, but he’d apparently kept an eye out for things wherever he went. Nobody had asked him about his center, yet, but Aster could see shapes of it, sometimes, in the way Jack hunted monsters.

Aster tried to add to the conversation, but he was still worn from the night before, and drifted off more than a few times before Jack declared him done, delivered him back to bed, and left Aster buried in blankets, off to deal with other duties, or talk to North, or...something. He was already gone.

When Aster was back to himself, fully rested and able to think clearly, he came to a very firm conclusion.

Two, really.

One, he was definitely and totally in love with Jack Frost.

Two, it was going to get him killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snow goons, of course, are the name given to animated snowmen by Calvin, of Bill Watterson's Calvin and Hobbes. It stands to reason that children with powerful imaginations alter the nature of the world around them.


	5. Don't Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just don't.

Aster was resolutely refusing to address that first Easter after Jack joined the Guardians.

He was charitably assuming Jack had been simply trying to get into the spirit of things.

This would have been okay if it had just been the fake ears.

But.

The little bobtail.

If he hadn’t been certain he was well and truly fucked, that would have been an unmistakable sign.


	6. Kick and a Punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack makes a surprising offer.

Aster awoke from his week-long nap after Easter to find Jack had cleaned up everything. Normally, Aster spent something like two months cleaning the Warren after the mess made from last-minute preparations.

He didn’t discover this for several minutes after waking, because after the post-Easter sleep, Aster was a little...slow. He wandered into the kitchen, picked up the cup of coffee that was waiting for him, and drank it in one gulp. A plate of fresh fruits sat on the table, which Aster set to eating. Halfway through, he paused, staring at the half-eaten fruit, and then back at the empty mug.

He was certain he didn’t make coffee before he went to sleep, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have been warm. And his first meal after that nap was always over-ripe or worn out.

Someone had been in his Warren.

Aster sniffed carefully, but couldn’t scent anything unusual. He scowled and finished an apple, trying to piece together who had intruded on his home...

He hit his forehead with a growl. It had to be Jack, the only person whose presence wouldn’t register as out of place. “Jack?”

Aster stood and cautiously wandered through the common areas. He marveled to see they were all, to a room, spotless and clean. It wasn’t that he was messy, but Aster was a busy bunny, and especially in the months coming up to Easter, and couldn’t often be bothered to keep things put away.

Jack wasn’t inside; he was, however, weeding Aster’s gardens, bringing the Pooka to an uncertain pause. He wasn’t dumb enough to think Jack knew that Pooka normally cleaned another’s house to indicate a desire to move in and show off one’s adequacy as a mate. Still, seeing the other spirit working in Aster’s garden made him feel...

Well, he wouldn’t mind seeing that a lot more often.

“Snowflake?”

Jack looked back at Aster grinning so wide Aster’s heart clenched. “Bunny!” He leapt up and crossed the space between them to grab Aster into a tight hug. “Glad to see you’re up; North said you sleep for like a month after Easter’s done!”

Aster shrugged, slight unease worming through him at the flush he knew was from the unexpected embrace. “More like a week. The rest of the time’s usually for cleaning up.”

“Eh. Things get slow after winter’s over,” Jack replied, stepping back. “And I thought you’d appreciate seeing the place clean after all your work.”

Jack bit at his bottom lip after that claim. It was becoming easier to read the human’s emotions, and thus easier to recognize Jack’s concern that he’d overstepped his boundaries. Aster stepped close and put a paw on Jack’s shoulder.

“You’re always welcome here, Snowflake. And it was nice waking up to more than a dingo’s breakfast. And...” Aster paused, staring at Jack. He didn’t want to explain about Pooka dating rituals. And maybe it was okay if he didn’t. It would make things awkward, and it wasn’t like he had to read anything into it.

“And what?”

Aster scrambled for something to talk about. “Just realized I’m at loose ends for the next week. I usually spend this whole month cleaning up.”

Jack’s expression shifted to a sly grin. “I’ve got a good idea. Now, I know you’re the Guardian of Hope and all, and yeah, the Easter thing is awesome. But I’ve noticed you’ve got a little problem with the whole...monster fighting thing.”

“Prob-”

Jack waved his hands in front of him defensively. “I get it; you spend all your time painting eggs. But if we get into a really dangerous fight, I’d feel a lot better knowing you were going to be okay.”

Aster was still dumbfounded. He’d been a general-monk of the Pooka people. He had millennia of experience in battle. He’d survived battles against Dream Pirates and Fearling armies, and Jack thought he needed to teach Aster how to fight.

Aster snorted. “I don’t need weapons training, Frostbite. I’d wipe the floor with you in a straight-up fight.”

Jack actually had the gall to laugh. Aster shot him a vicious glare. “Sorry, Bunny. But from what I’ve seen-”

“No. Come on, Jack. I’m going to show you a thing or two about proper fighting.” He stalked past Jack, grabbing the lad’s arm as he passed in order to drag him back to the Arena. It hadn’t had much use over the years, but he’d kept it in good shape.

The shallow, grass-covered bowl was about a hundred yards wide, and the perfect place to practice hand-to-hand. Aster tossed Jack a few feet away once he arrived, and took a step back. “All right, mate, come on.”

“What?” Jack asked.

“Try to drop me, Frostbite.”

Jack stared at Aster for a long moment before setting his expression into something harder - not nearly as frightening as Jack ready to fight monsters.

Jack sprinted at Aster, staff raised high. Aster side-stepped and used his foot as leverage to catch Jack’s feet and send him tumbling to the ground. When Jack glared up at Aster, Aster just grinned at him.

“Not so easy, eh?”

Jack swung at Aster’s feet; Aster, already half-expecting the attack, hopped back. When Jack tried a backhand attack, Aster kicked at the staff, sending it flipping out of Jack’s hand. Aster slammed his upper paws down to pin the lad, but Jack rolled aside and scrambled to his feet. He kicked at Aster’s side.

Aster yanked an arm down, grabbing at Jack’s leg. He tugged Jack off-balance and, when the boy fell again, rolled over to pin him. “You, lad, have a lot to learn,” Aster said, triumphant.

Jack narrowed his eyes at Aster, but he was smiling. “Bunny, you’ve been holding out on me.”

“Not a bit, mate, but come on.” Aster stood and reached a paw down to Jack. Once Jack was on his feet, Aster grinned at him. “You wanna go again?”

“Yeah,” Jack replied. “Let’s see what you can show me.”

This moment of playfulness turned into a new routine. It took a week for Jack to get tired of just getting beaten by Aster and asked for some tips in hand-to-hand, and Aster started teaching him a variant of Pooka Capo. It was, of course, hard for a human to match some of the movements a Pooka could, but Aster tried to make allowances. It was easier to teach fighting than painting, and Jack was much more enthusiastic than he he had been about painting eggs. And it was great fun having someone to spar with; the other Guardians preferred to use weapons, making a good spar a lot more dangerous. The repeated exposure to Jack, too, seemed to make it easier to handle the human’s presence. The attraction didn’t go away, and Aster still found himself sometimes captivated by Jack’s unexpected grace and ferocity. In fact, in watching Jack fight, Aster kept finding new facets to appreciate. When not fighting monsters, Jack delighted in the challenge and innovation needed in fighting; it was very like Pooka, encouraged to fight as a form of play.

And sparring gave way to long afternoons of Jack helping Aster with tending his garden, hunting for exotic plants, and (more often now) relaxing and playing.

It was on one such afternoon, Aster sprawling at his kitchen table while Jack ambled around, when Aster realized Jack was...circling him. It wasn’t very obvious, but Jack’s movements around the kitchen were less random than usual. Aster didn’t catch Jack staring at him, but Jack’s pauses were at angles optimal to get a careful look at the Pooka.

This...was a little ridiculous. Oh, he’d gotten a lot of strange looks before Jack got used to Aster’s appearance. And then there had been the awkward ‘alien rabbit’ discussion. But he knew Jack was used to him; he thought they were friends.

While Aster had learned to interact with humans, his first understanding of social behaviors came from his people. Which meant, after discounting the simplest explanations for a human’s behavior, Aster’s only theory was...utterly absurd. Aster was broken and the last of his kind, so desperate for love he’d take anything.

Jack had options. Jack was human, and probably a Puritan, if Jack’s vague relations of his life before becoming a spirit were anything to go by. They frowned upon men consorting with men, and probably weren’t keen on humans and aliens taking an interest in each other. That assumed Jack had even thought about it. It was as likely he didn’t even consider it an option.

Aster...wasn’t going to be able to handle this. Whatever Jack was up to, he had to know what Aster thought of it. Because otherwise it was going to taunt and torment Aster which meant he’d be more useless than he had been recently.

He was going to need to talk to Jack.

Worse, he was going to need to talk to North.


	7. Piecing Things Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aster needs advice about human relationships. North's the only human he knows (well, there's Katherine, but she's still a lass, for all she looks like somebody's grandmother now).

“Bunny!” Aster winced at North’s exuberant shout, not just at the volume of the shout, but also because the name Bunny had taken on a strange, intimate meaning for him. And wasn’t that part of the problem?

Aster ducked under a log carried by two industrious yetis, and waved North toward his workshop. “Come on, I’ve got to talk to you.”

North’s expression shifted, grin fading into grim acceptance. He nodded and followed as Aster moved. North swung himself into his chair and, folding his hands in front of him, looked expently at Aster.

Aster stared back, abruptly feeling more awkward. He didn’t know how to talk about this with North, his oldest friend on Earth. Even being the only person Aster knew who could remotely understand an issue involving human romance, Aster had no idea how to approach it. Maybe he could just...sort of circle the subject.

“Jack has been telling me about your teaching him combat,” North said. “He is very fond of you, speaks often about your great skill and understanding.”

“I’m pretty fond of him, myself,” Aster replied before he could help himself. “He’s a good bastard.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but felt that North knew more than he was letting on.

“He came to talk to me about you. Is worried.”

Aster’s breath hitched. “Worried? About what?”

“Thought you were not capable fighter. I told him about great battles against Pitch. Thought you were lonely, being last Pooka. I...was not certain what to tell him. You are much happier lately. But think you might pine, sometimes, for old times. For other Pooka.”

Ah. The words, unexpected, shocked Aster with memories he’d tried hard not to linger on. The memory of Pooka long-dead...and worse. It had become easier to think on Wisteria and the others known to be dead. The plains of Death’s kingdom were peaceful. The master of the Fearlings that had once been Pooka, however, was not as compassionate as Death.

He didn’t want to explain how he mourned not for the death of his people, but for those trapped in a state worse than death, those to whom Aster could bring no comfort, no hope.

“That’s...not quite it. Not lately,” Aster said. “He’s great company. A real Guardian, down to his center.” North’s eyes lit up, but he said nothing. “And have you seen him fight? He used to be rubbish at hand-to-hand, but a little Pooka Capo’s taken care of that.” He didn’t even bother to conceal the sense of pride he felt at that statement. But he could sense North’s interest, and knew he had to address the rest of it. “But he’s been...coming round a lot. Cleaning things. Making meals. Circling me.”

North raised one eyebrow slowly. “Ah. Please, correct if I am on wrong path. In Earth rabbits, these are often...mating habits.”

“Pooka do things...a little the same. It’s a good way to show interest. Sort of a...public claim. Hang around your mate’s house, keep away potential rivals, check ‘em out...” Aster shrugged.

“And this makes you uncomfortable?”

And...now into the breach. “Normally, she’d be right. I’d tell him about it, we’d have a laugh, move on. It’s just hard to ignore. I...”

North’s expression softened, almost smiling. “You do not think of him as a friend.”

“He’s a real mate, North. But...”

North waved his hands dismissively. “No need to elaborate, friend. I can see is hard to speak of. Have you...spoken to him?”

“What do I know about human relationships?” Aster demanded. “If I tried to talk about it, I’d just muck up the whole thing.”

“So you are here for advice.”

“Of course I am!” Aster snapped, slamming a paw into the table. “It’s tying me up in knots having him around acting like he’s...”

North shook his head. “There is no magic formula, friend. Is clear uncertainty is painful to you. You must inform him. No tricks, no grand gestures. Just...talk.”

“Wish it were as easy as it sounds,” Aster groaned. “What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if he doesn’t want to see me anymore?”

“Balderdash!” North roared. He rose to his feet, his hulking form seeming to loom over Aster. “You are Guardian of Hope! You do not whimper and growl about how your dreams might not come true. You hope!” Aster wanted to listen to North. He wanted to hope that this would end well. But what could he possibly expect-

“He has surprised you before, hasn’t he?”

Aster’s breath caught in his throat. Aster hadn’t brought Jack from the dead. Aster had convinced Death to allow him to try, but in the end, had been unable to demand Jack leave the peace he had found in death. Jack had in the end chosen to return on his own, saving Easter, and, ultimately, starting the process of winning Aster’s heart.

“You really think there’s hope?” Aster asked. His voice was quiet and felt weak in the cheery surroundings of North’s office.

“Where there’s life, my friend,” North said gently.

“You just need to have all the answers, don’t you?” Aster grumbled.

“I was young once, and in love,” North said, and Aster snorted, wondering whether he should point out how old, exactly, he was. “Still, am certain one day I will come to you with problem, and you will sound impossibly wise and I will complain about it.”

“Duly noted,” Aster replied. “Anyway, I gotta go-”

“Wait.” North raised a hand as Aster tried to rise. “Bunny. Be gentle with him.”

“I’ll be gentle as a kit,” Aster retorted, unwilling to discuss how often Jack had been the one to shelter and comfort him.

North raised an eyebrow. “With his heart, I meant. He has been alone a long time. Even if he feels as deeply as you, it may be hard to show it.”

Aster’s mouth snapped shut. Well. That was a new thought. It might explain why Jack was so clingy, why he could still seem so tentative around what might be considered Jack’s best friend. Still...

“Course I will, ya drongo. Wouldn’t be any point if I weren’t.” The rest of the thought was too private to share with North, but the old human seemed to understand, because he sat down, smiling gently at Aster.

Aster just nodded at North and slipped out of the Workshop. There was a small place clear of snow just outside the Workshop where Aster could open a tunnel home. But as he slipped down into the darkness, something seemed off. Wrong.

Dark.

Aster realized a moment too late the mistake he’d made in his preoccupation with Jack.

“Hello, Bunnymund. It’s been a long time,” said Pitch Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noooooooo! I figure Bunny's been dealing with monsters all story, why not let him run into their king?
> 
> WHO CAN SAVE HIM?


	8. Rescuing Bunny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aster's in a tight spot. Luckily, his knight in frosty armor's looking out for him.

Ages ago, Aster and the other Guardians had all but banished Pitch Black from the waking world. The problem was that Pitch had become, in his madness, some sort of anti-Guardian, representing the power of Fear in the world.

They had worked to banish the power of Fear from the world, and so kept him weak.

But there was one day not even the Guardians could keep Pitch shut away. Halloween was a day for monsters and fear. And because of it, for a single day, Pitch walked unopposed in the world of humans. In his distraction, Aster had forgotten it was Halloween. He normally stayed in, because autumn weakened him. Normally it wasn’t enough to worry about, but with Pitch at his most powerful, going out on Halloween was monumentally stupid.

Monumentally stupid seemed to define Aster’s every decision since Jack returned to life.

Which is how Aster ended up in PItch’s lair, the place under the bed, in a cage of darkened steel, instead of in his own home with Jack. Somewhere in the distance, Aster heard the sing-song voice of children. “Gray man, gray man, what’cha gonna do...”

PItch slipped from the shadows, smiling nastily in a way that reminded Aster that most creatures showed their teeth as a threat.

“Bunnymund! It’s so good to see you.” Pitch spread his arms, scowling when Aster didn’t reply. “You’re not being a very polite guest.”

“I’m not a guest, ya mongrel.”

“Such a charming turn of phrase,” Pitch drawled. “But you don’t need to put on a brave face...not among old friends.”

“I’m not scared of you!” Aster snapped.

The master of fear stepped back, affectedly raising a hand to his chest. “What? Really? I don’t believe you. I was the man who destroyed your people. Ended the Golden Age and started the Dark ones. I am the king of the Fearlings. I am the end of everything you hold dear. And you say you don’t fear me? Let’s have a look.”

None of them could read minds, not even Pitch, but each of them could rifle through a mind to find the resonance of their center - the thing that would bring Wonder, the Memories most needed, the shape of their Dreams, their Hopes.

Aster struggled to keep his fears from his mind, but it was a losing battle, as hard as trying to avoid thinking of a pink elephant. And Pitch had a wily mind, slippery as an eel and dark as midnight.

“No. Not even a little afraid? Not of me, but...there’s fear for another. For the Frostling? Oh yes, I would tear him apart, Bunnymund! But...there’s something else there? A fear of little Jack Frost?” The man abruptly threw his head back, roaring with laughter. “You fear for your heart, Aster!”

He stepped around the cage in a mockery of real circling that set Aster to hissing irritably.

Pitch took a step away as if actually frightened. “Ooh, have I touched a nerve, boy? Too afraid to hope? I wonder what that does to you...losing your center. It can’t have helped. Trying to go about your life, worrying what Jack will think. And yes, boy, he was raised in the Puritan faith. Never celebrated Christmas or Easter, never imagined he’d grow up to be pursued by a male pagan spirit. Just imagine what he’d think of you...”

Aster knew what Pitch was doing, and it didn’t stop the spirit from being able to do it. You could know someone was saying something just to upset you, but when he said everything you ever feared, it still hurt. The uncertainty and pain still wormed their way into your mind, into your heart. Aster knew that Pitch desired nothing more than a Fearling prince, or princess, or knight, and supposed another Fearling bunny might do. And it would be so easy, sitting here taunting Aster about how little Jack cared.

He shivered in the dank air of the caverns that made up the place under the bed, hunching his arms close in the closest he could manage to a hug. “Rack off,” he muttered, earning a laugh from Pitch.

“Oh, where would I go, Bunny?”

“Hell would be nice.”

A shepherd’s crook slammed into Pitch’s head. He could normally could melt into dark smoke when someone tried to strike him, but he hadn’t expected the attack, and stumbled to the side, clutching at his head. He was a warrior, moreso than Aster or Jack, though, and stepped aside to summon a dark steel blade to block the next attack.

Jack just swung his crook furiously at Pitch, face twisted in the way it got when he faced monsters. Pitch laughed and moved to block each swing, pushing Jack back with each blow. “Is this the famous Jack Frost? Terror of the creatures of darkness? When you can’t fight well enough to protect your little Bunny?”

 

“Jack! He’s trying to get inside your head!”

The words were barely out before bands of shadow snapped over Aster’s mouth, silencing him.

But Jack’s demeanor shifted, like quicksilver. He swung the staff away and around, giving Pitch a sly grin, something so familiar to Aster that it made his heart clench.

“You’re right. I can’t beat you. So how about a game?”

“What?” There was a moment of uncertainty in Pitch’s stance, and Jack used it to step forward, still grinning.

“Come on; I bet you get tired of these dumb fights. Wouldn’t you rather play a game? Hide and seek; that seems your sort of thing.”

“Oh, yes, Jack. I’ll hide. And when you find me...the game will be over.”

Aster wanted to scream a warning. He’d met Pitch enough to know to pick over every word, to read the worst into everything he said. Pitch would hide, taunt Jack until the moment he was ‘found’, and then...he’d win.

That’s how this was going to end. Jack dead - again - or worse, because Aster couldn’t keep his head on for five minutes. He could hear the echoes of their banter, Pitch taunting and Jack retorting, the voices drawing closer.

Aster closed his eyes, unwilling to watch it happen.

Fingers pried his eyes open, and shadows latched onto his lids, holding his head forward. “No, Bunnymund,” Pitch whispered. “I want you to watch.”

He slipped into the shadows around the cage and Aster wanted to sob, wanted to cry out to someone, anyone, to put an end to this.

Jack landed in a pale circle of light near the cage. He winked at Aster. “I’ll have you out in a second, Bunny-”

“Boo.”

Pitch loomed over Jack as the boy turned, a figure of shadow and viciousness, the sharp edge of night made manifest, hands clawed and horrid and his teeth gleaming in the darkness-

And a snowball hit him in the face.

Aster honked in surprise as the shadows binding him wavered, and Jack laughed, skating on the wind to the side of the cage. A blow with his crook shattered the lock to the door while Pitch stood there, the oddest expression on his face.

“Come on, let’s go,” Jack growled, grabbing Aster’s arm. “Can you get us out of here, or should we fly?”

“Frostbite, what’d you-”

“No time!”

The Wind lifted the two of them unsteadily into the air and then they were off, zooming through the darkness of Pitch’s lair. Behind them as they fled, the monster let out a sound that, had Aster been moving under his own power, would have made him pause.

Pitch was laughing. Not the vile, taunting chuckle of Pitch in control. The laughter of a man who just got the joke, who suddenly understood what everyone else had been laughing at.

Aster looked at Jack’s face, flushed and bright and beaming back at Aster, and he felt his heart swell. Yeah, he could see Jack’s center now. Couldn’t understand how he hadn’t before. “Jack-” he whispered, but then they erupted out into the forest near Burgess, and the Wind grew too loud to speak over.

Jack got far enough away from Pitch’s lair it was safe to enter the Warren and set Aster down, but he was hovering - not circling, but apparently unwilling to let Aster more than an arm’s-length from him. Aster...couldn’t complain. Not with his heart still skittering along, fear and relief all tied up into a knot of emotion.

Once they were safe inside, Aster looked at Jack, really looked at him. Jack was shaking; it was barely noticeable, but his hands looked unsteady. Aster leaned in and gently nosed Jack’s cheek, causing the boy to turn, startled, eyes wide as they met Aster’s gaze.

“No worries, mate,” Aster whispered. “I’m fine.”

Jack smiled slowly, and then his smile morphed into a triumphant grin. “And did you see the look on his face when I hit him with that snowball?”

“Yeah, it was grouse! What...did you do, anyway?”

Jack shrugged. “People always have fun at snowball fights. At least when I’m around. I thought I’d surprise him.”

Aster shook his head. “No, Snowflake, I...he laughed. He hasn’t laughed like that since he was General Pitchner. What. Did. You. Do?”

Jack’s eyes widened again at Aster’s intensity. He conjured a little snowball into his hand and this close...Aster could smell the magic on it. Jack’s magic. Laughter. Fun. The antithesis of fear.

“No wonder he didn’t chase after us. You can’t be afraid when you’re laughing. Good on ya. And...thanks for coming after me. How’d you do it?”

“You can’t hide from the Wind,” Jack said. “Come on, you can’t say you don’t have a way to track us down.”

“Not when you’re flying about, mate,” Aster replied. “You hungry? I was at North’s all arvo, and now it’s...”

“Like 11 or so. At least in Burgess.” Jack wrinkled his nose in thought. “I guess that means it’s tomorrow in Australia.”

Aster laughed. “It’s not tomorrow. It’s now. I’ll whip us up a treat.”

Jack actually flushed at this, glancing away from Aster. “You don’t have to do it just because I rescued you. I...”

“A Pooka can’t just want to do something nice for his friend?” Aster asked.

Something in Jack shifted. The blushing discomfort faded and the lad’s posture slumped. “Yeah, you can do whatever you want. I’m going to...” He waved vaguely at the table.

Aster could feel it, the sickening tang roiling off of Jack. Hope dying. He wanted to gag, to turn away, but this was Jack, his Jack, hurting.

So rather than make dinner, he slipped to the chair next to Jack and gently turned the other spirit’s chin so they faced one another. This close, it was nauseating, all the worse because it was Jack being miserable. In that moment, Aster could care less about Jack finding out, or about what might happen next, because Jack needed him. “Snowflake?”

“Why d’you keep calling me that?” Jack whispered.

Aster could only smile at that, knowing his expression had gone all...goofy with affection for the lad. “I think you know that, mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's true. The Puritans outlawed the practice of Christmas and Easter, because they were (are) essentially pagan holidays with the serial numbers filed off, and also because they were too Catholic and ritualistic for a bunch of Protestants. Mind, I might be playing with time a bit, saying Jack was raised Puritan, but I think it'd be funny he works with people who embody holidays he never celebrated.
> 
> (As a result, my headcanon says he probably prefers Easter because Christmas' materialism strikes a nerve with his Puritan roots, while Easter seems a little more family-based celebration)


	9. Resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get everything neatly worked out.

Jack lunged forward, crushing his lips against Aster; it was awkward not only because they’d never done this before but also because Pooka weren’t really built for kissing. The intent was there, in part for the tight grip pressed around Aster’s side. And...oh lord, he’d tried to avoid getting quite this close to Jack, even when fighting, but there was a very definite sign of interest also pressed up against him.

Aster might have actually purred, for which he’d have been a lot more embarrassed if it weren’t clear Jack were just as eager as he was.

Jack, however, pulled back, watching Aster with careful eyes. “Are you...Bunny, tell me to rack off, and I’ll go.”

“Oh, no, mate,” Aster grumbled. He drew close, crouching down to tuck himself comfortably under Jack’s chin. “You started this. You’re going to finish it.”

Jack’s eyes glittered suddenly, as if covered in frost. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it, Bunny.”

Aster leaned in closer, nuzzling the other spirit’s chest and earning a strained gasp from him. “Oh, mate, if you think I don’t mean it, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Jack growled in response, pushing Aster forward and overbalancing both of them. Aster fell backward onto the grass of his Warren, human spirit sprawled over and sheltering him as he enthusiastically peppered kisses across the Pooka’s face. Aster sighed and tilted his head back, exposing his throat to Jack. The human nuzzled Aster’s throat, nipping lightly, just enough to be felt, but not enough to cause pain, or panic. And then Jack pressed himself into Aster, the friction arousing the remainder of the Pooka’s attention.

Aster honked in surprise and bucked upward, which led to the brilliant moment when Jack reached down, brushing his hand against the both of them together.

“Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack,” Aster chanted hurriedly, gripping at the ground underneath them, unwilling to buck or move or anything that would break Jack’s concentration or shift him from his current task.

Jack happily obliged, the tip of his tongue poking from the side of his mouth as he worked. Aster found his gaze fixed on the lad’s face, his serious expression so focused Aster feared that looking away would break whatever spell had allowed him this moment. And, well, he could feel what was happening, so no need to look.

Besides, it was the face, and the light within it, that had first attracted Aster. He couldn’t look away from it.

It took altogether too little time and too much, excruciating in both respected. Aster let out a shout of, “Jack” in his moment, at which point Jack released him and pressed against Aster for a moment of furious action before the lad cried out and slumped onto (over, around) Aster.

Aster let the moment of peace, of silence, stretch on. He savored the press of the familiar, and once unexpected, warmth, above him. This was the touch of the person who’d sheltered him and saved him in half a dozen different ways. The person who’d grabbed Aster like he was the most important thing in the world to him.

He wanted to let that warmth envelop him forever, even as he knew it was impossible. Jack’d been overwhelmed or high on adrenaline or-

He has surprised you before, hasn’t he?

“So, Jackie, what was that about?” Aster tried to keep his tone casual, but he was certain his voice was shaking.

Jack pressed down, hugging Aster. “Wanted to do that for months, Bunny, but you weren’t paying attention.”

“Attention?” Aster squeaked. “If you think I haven’t been paying attention-”

“Come on, Bunny, I’ve been keeping your place clean. I’ve spent more nights here than my pond. I’ve been circling you. What does that say to you?”

“If you’d been a Pooka...but how in the blazes did you know about that?” Aster curled up under Jack, trying to seek comfort even if it was from the source of his confusion.

Jack huffed a laugh against the top of Aster’s head. “You’d be amazed what you can learn in libraries.” Aster didn’t ask; he was certain, though, he knew what sort of being would help Jack Frost research Pooka courting habits. “But you were ignoring it, Bunny. I thought I must have imagined you staring at my ass last Easter.” Aster felt a flush race up to his ears. Jack reached up to run a hand down Aster’s cheek.

“I felt him take you, Aster. This whole place stank of fear. I was so worried...” Hands clenched in Aster’s fur. “And I was so relieved. I...might have gotten carried away. If you don’t...aren’t interested, Bunny, you can tell me. I’ll pretend this never happened.”

“No,” Aster growled. He reached up and wrapped his arms around Jack, pulling him closer to him. “Never. Just stay here. With me.”

“In the grass?” Jack asked. “I thought you were more civilized than that.”

Aster snorted. “Well, if you insist. You know the way to my den.” Jack, a little sluggish, pushed off of Aster. Aster scrambled up to all fours and paused, leaning to Jack’s ear. “And Snowflake? The things they say about bunnies - they said it about Pooka first.”

Jack’s breath hitched, and Aster grinned.

Some hours later, both of them, preserved youth and Pooka together, worn and spent, were tangled together in Aster’s nest. Despite his best efforts, Aster found it all but impossible to make it so Jack was completely wrapped around him. He stretched his head up to nuzzle Jack’s cheek; when Jack just hummed appreciatively, Aster reached up a little further, rubbing his chin against the top of Jack’s head.

Jack giggled. “Aw, Bunny, you do like me.” Aster froze, feeling a little like a kit caught doing something embarrassing. Which he wasn’t. It was perfectly natural for a Pooka to chin someone he...

“Not just that, Snowflake,” Aster murmured. “I love ya.”

“...Oh.”

“That alright?”

“Yeah,” Jack replied, although his voice was shaky. “I just didn’t...realize it’d feel like that. Hearing someone say it. So you love me? When’d that happen? Second time? Fifth? I think the fifth might have done it.”

“It wasn’t rutting that did it, you...showpony,” Aster grumbled.

There wasn’t anything to do but let the whole story slip out, the whole embarrassing journey of self-discovery, danger, and doubt. Jack held him through the entire thing, not laughing once, although when Aster reached the part about his doubts, about Pitch’s taunting, Jack’s grip around him tightened.

“North was right. I’m not going anywhere, Bunny.” It was warmer than the press of flesh around him, the feeling Jack’s words inspired. “I love you, too.”

Aster shivered. “That’ll do, mate. But...well, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“You’re not going to get pregnant, are you?” Jack asked. “I think I’d make a terrible father.”

“Nah, not a bit,” Aster laughed. “On both counts.” He nuzzled Jack again. “You don’t have to call me Bunny, mate. I got a name. A proper one.”

“Yeah, Aster,” Jack said, wrinkling his nose. Aster brushed his nose against it.

“Nah, I meant my...given name. I picked Aster myself, when I was grown.” Aster leaned close and whispered his name in Jack’s ear. “It means ‘child who never gives up hope’.”

Jack laughed. “It’s pretty. You don’t like it?”

“I always thought...it sounded a bit sissy.”

“It’s not.” Jack kissed Aster’s forehead. “It’s brave.” He kissed Aster again. “And strong.” Another. “Hoping, even if everyone else has given up.” Another. “It’s why I fell in love with you.” Another. “That, and your really cute cottontail. Huh. Cottontail. I like that.”

“What?” Aster felt his ears flushing again from Jack’s casual description of his...well, tail. “What about my name?”

“Maybe sometimes, in here, where no one else can hear it,” Jack whispered. “Otherwise, it’ll just be our little secret.”

Aster felt a little thrill of worry in his chest, but remembering North’s words, and Jack’s reassurances, he brushed it aside. “And the rest of it? Us?”

Jack laughed again, burying his face into Aster’s chest. “We’ll tell Katherine to put it in stories, how the Easter Bunny fell in love with Winter. They’ll make me a girl, though, I bet, unless kids today are really progressive.”

“You might want to tell North, first,” Aster murmured. “Or you’ll give him a heart attack.”

“We’ll have a dinner party,” Jack said, his voice quieting as he drifted into the beginning of sleep. “I’ll cook and wear a little apron.”

Savoring the image, even if he knew he’d never make Jack go through with it, Aster fell asleep in the comfort of the winter spirit’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! Thanks for everyone who watched this and made such great comments.
> 
> Technically this is only the end of this story; among the most important part of this arc to tell is what happens during the events of the movie. Pitch can't very well pull the same trick, and he won't fall for misunderestimating Jack.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by another kink meme; I complained about my inability to handle some of the bonus stuff, but the rating may change once I get into this story a little.
> 
> The basic summary of the suggestion was Jackrabbit, inspired by Jack continually saving Aster from danger. It meshed well enough with what I was planning for the "intermediate" period between Convincing Death and whatever happens instead of the plot of Rise of the Guardians, so here it is.
> 
> I've read enough of the books that my headcanon does a lot of indiscriminate blending; I'll try to remember to explain things to movie-verse fans when they come up.
> 
> Also, added the Underage tag, even though I'm really not certain how you qualify the age of consent between a million-year-old space rabbit alien and a 314 year old frost spirit (added age difference because, well, obvious reasons).


End file.
